Interview
by nathan-p
Summary: A character is interviewed, concerning his experiences with Jeb. Essentially, a dual experiment in both dialogue and characterization. Some mildish swearing, otherwise clean.


Interview

Introduction:

An interview with someone you don't know. Possible AU… I got liberal with the timeline because I don't have book one, and it wasn't too solid on chronology either.

Warning: Experiment in dialogue-only (I may change the tags a bit to evade scriptfic). Watch my writing style change… toward the end especially I got into the Salinger italics ("Oh, it's so _ter_rible"). Throughout I've been trying to make my dialogue realistic. Interestingly, it reminds me very much of _The Book of Dave_, which I finished today. Review if the dialogue's good or if it isn't. I'll wind up editing to make it even…

Just a further note, one only: Yes, the POV is nonspecific, but this character is mine. (Friends of mine will remember Dr. Prescott/Nathan.) Jeb is not, however – and he would be the eponymous [name deleted. Nor is Reilly. Or, for that matter, Usenet, however briefly mentioned, and the alluded-to School.

And before you come running to me about not knowing who's saying what, the first paragraph is the interviewee, the second is the interviewer, and it alternates from there, unless I put [Pause. or something else in brackets between paragraphs. Anyway, the interviewer only uses one line of text each time. And yes, it starts in the end of the interview. Technique, I call it.

(Note: I've fixed the speech tags, but have left in the phonetic bits – Emm Cees, etc. Is there any _reason_ why FF has decided to wage a jihad on end brackets?)

…[Laugh. Yeah, and the endless sluu of "Academies" and "Colleges". "Hey look, I can use a thesaurus!"

"Sluu"? Can you spell that?

Sluu. Ess ell ee doubleyou. Mix or something. But yeah, there's a million.

Something else you'd like to say?

Oh… and _everyone_ has the Emm Cees escape magically, with no assistance. Or else, the assistance of someone who shouldn't have the keys. Feh, say I. I think maybe two ever escaped that way… well, besides [name deleted's kids.

Tell me more about your relationship with [name deleted.

I think it was Usenet where we met… I mean, it was 1986. No, that's not it, but Usenet will do. Maybe it was… I remember we set up a connection to this Intranet very early on, that was probably it. Anyway I posted asking… oh, something about avian genetics. Fact-checking for one of my computer-illiterate colleagues. That was Vince, as I recall. Funny – [laughs – now he admins an online forum, and I barely bother with Word. Anyway, I asked about avian genetics, some silly question. I think I said something to do with junk genes. And then this fellow posted the next day saying that he was working in avian genetics too, and thought he could help me. Said he might be able to explain my problem, but not very well over the screen.

[Laughs, coughs briefly.

So he asked where I was, and this being before people would stalk you and kill you online – I mean, we were two scientists, honestly – and I said that I was in Colorado. And he said, well, I'm going up to Salt Lake to see some friends, could I meet him there? By coincidence, I've got an aunt lives in Utah, and I said, yes, I could, I had an aunt I needed to visit anyway. I did need to visit her, hadn't seen the poor lady since I was ten. So I got to Salt Lake by hitchhiking – I made a funny sight, I suppose, twenty-two years old, well-dressed, standing by the side of the road. Got a ride from some nice people who were going to see the Mormon Temple – and met him in this café in downtown Salt Lake.

[Pause.

He wasn't really impressive in person, but – when he asked where I was and I said Colorado and he said California but he was going up to Salt Lake, he said as a joke, well, I'll have a sign on – well, he was wearing the sign. This sign that said, oh, I don't remember… some bird thing. Not very funny.

Can you remember what he looked like? I mean, besides the sign?

Oh, not very impressive. You remember I dyed my hair in high school unsuccessfully; well, I'd tried again briefly some short time before, but with brown instead. So I had brown tips on silvery-whitish hair, pale skin, and squareish glasses that made me look old. Not to mention I ran into a few of the café chairs. I imagine he knew me right away... Anyway, he had brown hair, I think, and funny eyes, sort of blue, sort of green. Kind eyes… I thought he'd make a good father sometime. Told him that too. He laughed; he had a funny laugh.

Did you contact him again?

Oh yeah. Gave him my mailing address, said he could write me sometime. Then I said, wait, we're getting a landline put in sometime. I'll send you the number. He said yeah sure, then I'll call you. Keep in touch. I went and visited my aunt after that. She makes good cookies, you know.

[Pause.

After eighty-six, I sent him a letter saying that if he ever needed my help, I'd be glad to help. Enclosed my phone number – by then I'd moved into the top floor, and I had an extension of our landline. Pretty neat, though anyone calling me had to go through whoever was receptionist. They got a nice girl to do that. Sarah or Cathy… I remember she was brunette, and always said goodbye whenever I left and hello when I showed up. Anyway, we kept in touch. Got in a few Usenet fights, called each other once in a while.

Did he ever send you a letter?

Yes. I think it was… oh, late nineties… maybe 2002 even. Sent me a letter. I thought it was a suicide note from the first line – you know, by the time you read this I'll be gone. Asked if I could take over things at his lab down Death Valley. There was a postscript, and so I called him right that minute, said yeah I'd be down there in a bit, I'd been planning to visit anyway. He said thanks, I didn't know how grateful he was. I said sure, I'll bring you some of my aunt's cookies – they were our injoke by then; I'd told him how good my aunt's cookies were, and everytime we met up Eye Are Ell, I'd bring him some –

How many times did you meet? Eye Are Ell?

Oh, that means In Real Life… picked it up from somewhere. Dettwrytuss –

Pardon?

You know, det_wry_tuss. Dee ee tee are eye tee you ess. Flotsam, jetsam, that stuff. Anyway, we met up about two times after eighty-six. Once in ninety-three, and again in ninety-five or ninety-six. He liked the cookies.

What were you saying?

Oh… hmm… Well, I said yeah I'd do it, and he laughed and said he'd send me the results when he was done, it was an experiment which might take him a few years, so I'd better not bring the cookies. On second thought Reilly would like them, he added. New intern. Typical geek, loves his Coke and Cheetos. Might as well give him some home cookin'.

So you went down to Death Valley.

Yes, left things to everyone else – they'd started warming up to me again, after that business in ninety-six – and went with a nice old lady I knew. She was going to live with her children and said she'd drop me off just east of Death Valley… of course she didn't know I was going _to_ Death Valley, I'd said I had a sick mother in… whatever that little town is. It mightn't be there anymore. Very small.

[Pause.

So she dropped me off in this little gas station, and I used the payphone to ring the number I'd been given to reach Reilly. He had a cellphone, I remember that, because me having been more or less shut up on my floor for ages, I thought it was a wonder. Anyway, this guy Reilly said he'd come get me. He had an old car – looked like the same junker I owned. I said hey, your friend Dr. [name deleted said I oughta take his job for a while. He said – he was a skinny kid, made me think of how I looked in eighty-six, all bones – that I must be Dr. Prescott then. I said no call me Nathan. And he took me in.

You said earlier that you've had some security problems before.

Yeah, I had a few there. Almost forgot where I kept my Eye Dee, got in a bit of a mess. The guards were nice though, but I set off the metal detector – I always keep some, ah, things on me. In case. I remembered them and set them in the little bin – it was metal there, not nasty grey plastic like now – and said they oughtn't touch it, they might get ill. Of course it wasn't… bad, but… Anyway, I got through security and… I took over his job. Easy stuff. Felt guilty, but I had to curse his name to fit in.

Why?

Well, I found out when I got there that he'd scarpered with six of the experiments. First time around, I was playing it straight – I was horrified, he'd just said he was off on a long experiment. I said he'd called in a favor and hadn't told me a damn word about what he was doing. Naturally I was shocked. But you know still, it was acting. And his job was damn boring, I was glad when he got back and I could leave. Desk job, ugh.

[Laughs.

He gets back – after _two years_, and I said, well, you better have a good excuse. And he says, he laughs, well, the experiment's just started. I was just doing the prelim. Now I get a bit of free time. What say we head up to that café… and you get me some of your aunt's cookies?

And you went up Salt Lake?

Betcha. We took his car, he dropped me off at a bus stop and I took a bus to my aunt's house. Told her my job in Death Valley was done, did she have any cookies. She said yes, of course, she always did for her favorite nephew. I took a box, and I sat in a bus going downtown with the box wrapped up neat in brown paper, and I thought my God, if she knew what I was _do_ing for a living… Cookies were good though.

[Cough.

So I met him at the café, and he told me almost everything. Said that we were doing the same work – that was why we met, I told him, and he said he knew – but that his were… I think he said… he said they were… whole cloth. Mine were patchwork, his whole. That was code – meant that I used a virus to make a walking-around-living human what he used an embryo to make. You're sure this isn't taped – we'd get our asses beat if the gov' knew.

Of course not. This is private material.

Good. Then he said he had a little place we could go… and next thing I know, we're sitting in his car parked on a street in an under-construction suburb, and he's nattering on about how he's trying to establish a breeding program. I said wow I never thought of that. Well I did, he said, and we laughed a bit. Then he said, it _is_ a pity that the oldest male is damaged. Blind, and I've had to set the female up with the second oldest. Oh, too bad, I said as sympathetically as I could manage. But it'll work, he said. Now's the "leave alone" stage. I get to kick off for two years – kicks in their survival skills. Then… well, you'll see.

[Pause.

And I did, but not until… oh, 2005 was it? I remember I got a package in the mail, and Cindy – it was Cindy, I remember her name now – said it must be Christmas presents, and I told her no, it was July. I took it up to my floor – really a pity, it was half apartment, mostly lab. _Be_autiful setup – and opened it. Know what it was?

No. What was it?

A book[Laughs. A _book_! He'd attached a Post-It to the front, and it said – I put it somewhere, but it's… gone – it said something like this will explain what I couldn't say two years ago. Best, then signed [name deleted. First time he ever used his first name with me – we used to call each other by our online handles or last names. I laughed and said[name deleted! What an _odd_ name! And it was like a little voice said, well your name's Artaxiad. And I sobered up.

Did you read the book?

Of course. It _did_ explain things in a funny way. _Aw_fully biased, though. All for the experiments, not for us. I remember wanting to write the Em Cee and say that I knew Dr. [name deleted back when, but got rid of the draft, burnt it. Shameful. But a fun read – I remember writing him a letter back: Dear [name deleted, lovely book, I get it now. Something like that.

Has he contacted you since?

Yeah, I wrote him after… in January oh-seven – my God, it's oh-seven already! what a science-fiction year! – and he showed up somehow. At my door he showed up, with roses even, saying he was sorry. He looked me up and down once I let him in, and he said, well, the crutches don't do much for you, and it's a pity your lab's gone, but you're the same old Nathan. Same old Nathan. We had a cup of tea each – he never took to coffee, drinks it but hates it – and then he was off.

[Pause.

Haven't seen him since. Called him once, I think, but it was the funniest thing… someone picked up, then I suppose they saw the caller Eye Dee, and hung up on me. The voice was familiar though…

How so?

Sounded… I don't know… very familiar. Almost had it once – then it was gone.

Thank you for your time.

Thank you for yours. Would you care to get the door? – my ankles are nasty today, and the crutches are a regular bitch to get through doors.

Certainly.


End file.
